


Dragon Age Secret Santa

by momopeachchild



Series: Dragon Age Writings [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Drabbles, Dragon Age Secret Santa, Multi, Other, There's going to be more tags the more that gets put up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 05:11:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5526671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momopeachchild/pseuds/momopeachchild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles for a Dragon Age Secret Santa. My recipient asked for "happy things" to happen to their favourite characters, and this is what ended up happening. I hope they, and everyone who reads these like them!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love - Alistair

**Author's Note:**

> DA: Secret Santa for "themiddleofsomecalibrations" on tumblr! Merry Christmas!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair's musings on love. Specifically when he first fell in love with his warden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabbles for a Dragon Age Secret Santa. My recipient asked for "happy things" to happen to their favourite characters, and this is what ended up happening. I hope they, and everyone who reads these like them! For "themiddleofsomecalibrations" on tumblr. I hope you like it, darling!

There never seemed to be that big "Ah-ha" moment for Alistair when it came to loving his fellow Warden. He wasn't even sure how, or when he had started to consider them a friend, let alone the woman he loved! She'd been there for him, after Ostagar, after Duncan, and she'd taken the lead. He should have, he was the most senior, but he had become lost in his grief. He had been told she suffered her own, before joining, but he'd never thought to ask about it. She just took the responsibility and shouldered it without a word. She never once made him feel guilty for his grief, or for his bouts of melancholy. She was just there for him.

 

The Rose in Lothering had been a silly thing, but he could't help himself. The thought of something so beautiful being left behind to be destroyed by something so ugly was just horrible for him. Of course, when he thought of back then and silly things, he could add bringing along a Chantry Lay-Sister, and a hulking Qunari who openly admitted to slaughtering an entire farm of people. That would not have, and wasn't his first choice, but she had decided they needed willing allies. She was the leader, and thank the Maker it turned out to be a good idea. So had the rose.

 

Perhaps it was sometime between going to Kinloch Hold and helping Wynne and the mages and traveling to Redcliff. The state his home village had been in, the state that his Uncle's family had been in. It'd been a miracle she'd figured out away to save both Connor and Isolde. All of it, every action she took there, ever villager she saved endeared her to him, and she even agreed after that, to go to Denerim with him and meet his sister! And through it all she never mocked him, never once teased him beyond a few "your majesties". But even those had been in friendly jest, even then she'd never questioned why he hadn't told her. She had just accepted it, accepted [i]him[/i] and continued on with life. She'd admitted a bit of relief, to him later that night, because if Cailan had had no heir, if her brother had lived, he would be the new king, and if not, someone might have tried to seat her on the throne. Couslands were next in line, and as far as she knew, she might be the last. 

 

The story of the night Duncan recruited her spilled from her lips, a little ways away from the camp, and Alistair did the only thing he could think to do when her voice broke. He wrapped his arms around her, tightly, and gave her her time to grieve, her time to mourn and accept, and maybe start to heal. She had held him back, and they sat there, in the shadows of the camp fire, offering each other what little comfort they had to give. It was then, Alistair realized, that she was now his dearest friend, and they both knew strongly held secrets. 

 

He wasn't really sure how to place when he realized that his love for her was no longer that as a friend, and that as someone he wished to court, but one day he just looked at her and it hit him. The rose seemed a little silly, but she seemed to love it. She had held it close and smiled sweetly at him, and kissed him gently. And when they reached the end, reached that roof top, and he saw her taking the last killing blow, and then lying there on the ground, he knew he hadn't been fooling himself. He did truly love her, if the fact that he felt his heart stop was any gauge. A good thing considering she had told the whole of the Landsmeet they were going to be wedded. 

But all he could think of was if Morrigan's plan had worked? He wasn't sure, he had to know, and he rushed to her side, saying every prayer he knew, and came up with a few as he went just for good measure. Dropping to his knees, he couldn't tell if she was still breathing, and with his hopes sinking, cradled her to him gently, tears slipping past his eyes as she let out a soft groan.

"Oh thank the Maker. I love you." he whispered, and she cracked an eye to look at him, before giving him a tired smile.

"I know." She paused, blinking slowly. "You'll have to carry me."

"I can do that." 

Kissing her forehead, he swept her into his arms and beamed brightly at Eamon and the others, so glad that she was alive. The'd won the day, and soon they would be man and wife, soon they would be crowned King and Queen of Fereldan, he and his beloved Warden.


	2. Joy  - Wynne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wynne reflects on the joy in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part of of eight for "themiddleofsomecalibrations" on tumblr's secret santa! Let's hope I get the rest up before work!  
> Sorry Wynne's is so short...

Wynne was forever thankful that as she grew older, she was able to find joy in the little things in life. There was joy to be found in the way an apprentice's face lit up when a lesson clicked, or when another of her students returned from their Harrowing. There was joy i serving her country and king with her fellow mages, even if she found no joy in killing. It mattered not if they were Darkspawn. 

And after, when the last two Fereldan Wardens came and helped save her and the mages, she felt joy in knowing they were saved, and she had helped, and that here was a chance to do more with her life.  

Even as their harsh life on the road wore on her, on all of their companions truly, there was still joy to be found. When the Warden gave her some yarn, when Alistair hugged her so tightly when she made him  a scarf. Even Zevran's odd flirty was joyous in a way. Things could still proceed as normal. Even in the end, when they had saved the day, and their Wardens came down from that fort victorious. When they were not sure if she would live or die, there was still joy in knowing that her sacrifice would not be in vain. But she could sense that their leader was just too stubborn to die, especially now that she and Alistair were to be wedded.

And her last joy with her companions came when she saw the two wed and crowned, very much in love.


	3. Trees - Merrill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merrill ponders about Trees, and finds a kindred soul in the Inquisitor.

Merrill knew why they had left Ferelden, it was why everyone had left Ferelden. It was why two of her clan were dead! She had accepted that, and she tried to help others accept it and move on. It was part of her duties as the Keeper's First, even if part of her choices were met with her Keeper's disapproval. But that didni't mean she didn't get homesick. Kirkwall had so few trees that she always said "yes" when Hawke asked if she wanted to go off to the coats or the wilds with them. Any scrap of nature made her feel a little better. O yes, there alienage had a tree, but everyone always got so mad when she climbed it. And Varric always went to so much trouble when she'd gotten caught in in someone's (usually the Vicount's) gardens.

 

The buildings were as tall as trees, and usually just as busy, but none of it ever felt right. And she couldn't express herself to anyone as to why it just didn't feel right. Varric was born and raised in Kirkwall, he only knew the city life, and while Hawke had grown up in the country, there was something nice about living in the city, even if it was filled with Templars. Fenris and Isabela didn't understand either, and while Aveline was a bit more sympathetic, she never could quite put her finger on that feeling either. It wasn't alive, she would tell them, and there were no animals, except rats.  But she made do, as best she could, though she wished some days she could grow more plants in her small home.  She didn't complain if she could help it, everyone had always been so kind to her. There was no point in bringing them down.

 

And after the rebellion, some of the alienage elves wanted to leave, to flee from the rampaging templars and terrified mages, into the wilds. And it was there Merrill found herself in her element again. She led her people through the wilds, and away from the templar and mage conflicts with ease. And as Hawke and Varric got word to her about the Inquisition, her own group had heard tales, and grew curious themselves. It was wonderful to travel through the wilds again, to set foot in Ferelden again, was such a wonderful event. She stopped in the middle of the path and said a soft prayer to the Creators, to Mythal in thanks and continued to lead her people on. Despite all the circumstances, she reveled in being home once again! 

 

The only thing that made her happier, was being personally greeted by the Inquisitor! To see another Dalish, to be greeted by another Dalish in a place that they thought was created by the Ancient Elvhen was just amazing. And there were _trees_! In the gardens, so fruitful and lovely and out in the mountains that surrounded them. Merrill was over come with joy, and Lavellan was more than willing to go out and explore with her, to show her all the wonders, only to return her safely to her beloved Hawke as night drew close.

 

Perhaps this was just another test the Creators had for her, to see if she could bear the burden of being away from everything she loved so much. But as Hawke wrapped their arm around her, and Varric motioned her to enter the Herald's Rest to meet everyone, she could honestly say this was the first time in a long time that she felt home, trees or no trees.


	4. Rainbow - Vivienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When one thinks of the Iron Lady many words come to mind. "Rainbow" isn't usually the first.

From the first spell she ever cast, Vivienne had found Winter class magic as easy to control, to cast and use as easy as breathing. Her first indication of magic had been a small dusting of frost over the hedges in front of her family's home. It might have been over looked had it not been summer, and from that point, the Enchantress had been able to bend snow and ice to her will. It was as beautiful as it was deadly, and it appealed to her. She was not from a rich or influential family, and every accomplishment, every step forward in a society that was bound and determined to keep her back, to keep her down was done on her own. She was just as beautiful and deadly as the cold she commanded by the time Bastian met her, and yet there was still something about her that drew him to her time, and time again until they were lovers.

 

He was the first to ever remark upon it, she would remember, that when she cast her ice in front of him. It had been just a small prism, something to amuse his wife when she was feeling poorly, and as she held it up to the light, it cast a rainbow over the wall, and as he looked in it, he smiled as commented that it was simply casting what was inside, out. She had managed not to blush, but Bastian had never been subtle about his flirting. It was still something to think on, despite all. If the ice was as beautiful inside, as it was out, was it still deadly? Yes, the answer would always be yes, and she would often teasingly remind him that she could kill him with a wave of her hand if she wanted to. But, he would counter, she never wanted to.

 

When the world started to go to hell, and she joined the Inquisition, she never thought that anyone would comment on it again. It had just been her lover's way, to say pretty words to comfort her, or to bring a smile to her lips. But she was wrong. The Herald of Andraste was so shy, and it was something she could not stand, especially from another Circle Mage, but she could sense it was just a front she had put on. After all, she had been held at sword point and accused of killing the Divine. Anyone would retreat back to a quiet, harmless facade. Now if only she would drop it. 

 

But as shy as she presented herself, and as harmless, she had a wicked grace as she spun her staff and danced with the fire that came from her Inferno class magic. She often spent time trading tips and ideas with the Tevinter Magus, but Vivienne was a little smug when she came to her, asking if it was too late to learn the Winter Class. If she was to be Andraste's Herald, Trevelyan would insist, then she needed to learn everything she could, to be the best she could. An admirable goal, and the Enchantress had agreed with little convincing. 

 

They would practice away from the nervous templars, away from the nervous peoples and soldiers of Haven, though Cullen would be told where they were and what they were doing, just for their own safety. One didn't need stories of possible Apostates in the woods near the town after all. And Vivienne was fairly certain that Sister Nightingale had a few of her spies following them, but she couldn't prove it. It didn't matter, they weren't going to see anything secret or overly special.

 

She was showing the Herald the most basic of spells, when her eyes grew wide before her.   
"What, darling? Is there a nug behind me?" she asked with some amusement. But the Herald shook her dark head, mouth slightly agape.

"Rainbows," she whispered, and Vivienne moved to join her, to see the sun through the ice and smiled. "They're beautiful, Vivienne. Just like you."

It startled her, a bit, to hear words Bastian had whispered to her, said again in such awe, and if she was hearing correctly, a bit of flirtation. She pulled herself together long enough to laugh her off, but Evelyn caught her hand gently, turning her so they faced one another.

"I'm serious, Vivienne.  Your magic is beautiful. Devastatingly powerful, but beautiful none the less. My magic destroys things, inspires fear, but yours..yours is a work of art. You've managed to catch a bit of the sky in your ice, and it's so beautiful. People stand in awe of you, in awe of the rainbows you can create on a whim, both every time you call a bit of the fade to help you, and every time you smile."

 

The Herald kept steady eye contact for a full minute, before smiling gently at her and letting her hands go.

"Please don't forget that, Vivienne." 

And as if none of that happened, she turned back around and nodded, that she was ready to try the form she'd just learned. Motioning for her new pupil to start, she found herself smiling ever so slightly, feeling just as warm as when Bastian would whisper similar things to her in their most private moments, and wished she could articulate to the younger mage before her, that fire held rainbows too, and she was just as beautiful.

 

Later, she decided. Now was the time for instructing, compliments could come later.


	5. Musical - Dorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a lute by Dorian's chair, but can he play it?

To hear Dorian speak of Tevinter, of his family and his home, the person listening would hear about the pressures to be the best mage, to have the purist blood, and rise to the top of the Magisterium. Whether or not one was musically inclined seemed to be something rather low on the list of qualities one would nurture in a child. But, Dorian would smugly correct, if one was not also the most talented, what was the point? He would never say if his musical abilities were nurtured by his parents, or if he had learned to play on his own. But he would claim to be a master at the lute, but only when Maryden was within earshot. 

  
Still, Dorian's lover was always curious about the lute that rested next to his chair. No one in the library, or any of Leliana's people could ever recall hearing him play it, but he was spotted a few times gently touching it to polish the wood. But he would not press his lover to play, not when he wasn't sure if he wanted to, or if it had the off chance of being something painful for him. He knew about keeping reminders of painful memories around. He never touched it, either, for fear of somehow hurting or upsetting his lover. But he was always so curious about it, and about the things Dorian never told him about it and other parts of his past.

 

Time seemed to move so quickly, and not at all at the same time for them. Loving one another, getting Dorian's birth right back, all of it seemed to fly by so quickly, before it was over, all of it was over and Dorian was going home. Sure he was going to stay a bit longer, for some indication he needed to return, some sign, but the Inquisitor was a selfish man. He didn't want to lose his lover, especially not when he would be so far away, that if he were to get into trouble he would not be able to protect him. Every night together was precious, every night drew them one dawn closer to Dorian having to leave. He couldn't bear the thought of him leaving, and one night, as they snuggled together in the warm glow of the fire, he felt himself blurt out "Play something for me?"

 

His lover gave a slight start, shifting to look down at him with a bemused smile and shook his head fondly. "You want _me_ to play for you, amatus? Shouldn't I fetch the Tavern Bard for you?" he teased, and he shook his head, staring up at him with pleading eyes. 

"Please, Dorian? I don't care what you play, just..something."  
"Of course, Amatus," he murmured, kissing his forehead before slipping out form under him. Watching him cross the room, the Inquisitor never let his eyes stray, and found something vaguely hypnotizing as he watched his lover's fingers tune his lute. The words he sang were lost on him as they were in Tevene, but his voice was quite soothing, and he found himself growing drowsy as his lover kept playing. Smilingly gently at Dorian, he tilted his head as his lover ran his fingers through his hair and kissed him softly.

"I'd no idea you were so musical." he chuckled, hugging his tanned lover and sighed. "Play me another?" he asked and was rewarded with a kiss, and another song. Then another, and another, until they were both falling asleep, huddled together in front of the fire.


End file.
